


soulmate syndrome

by notquiteaghost



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Sibling Incest, enjolras is very convincing, it's not grantaire's fault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 17:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquiteaghost/pseuds/notquiteaghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire and Enjolras are brothers, and there are drunken make-outs, angsty panicking, and a happy-if-not-entirely-legal ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	soulmate syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> i blame the kink meme.
> 
> title's from [this](http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/13024.html?thread=7037920).
> 
> (also, they are in england and the english age of consent is 16, jsyk).

Grantaire and Enjolras have always been close. 

It's more a product of circumstance than anything. They're only three years apart, and they're the only children of rich, absent parents, and they spent a lot of their formative years with only each other and an overpaid nanny for company. 

Realistically, if they'd met in the street, they probably wouldn't have made it through one conversation, let alone reached the unhealthy level of co-dependency they've got going now. They're quite similar, personality wise (stubborn, headstrong, self-worth issues), but are polar opposites when it comes to philosophy and ideals and beliefs. 

The only way they've really communicated since Enjolras turned thirteen is through good-natured but heated debates. They've gotten it down to an art, really. 

And Grantaire is glad, because when he's focusing all his energy on proving his little brother wrong, he's not thinking about anything else. Not school, not their parents, and definitely not how badly he wants to pin Enjolras to the nearest flat surface and snog him senseless. 

Because that's a thing. That Grantaire wants to do. And has wanted to do, quite desperately, since roughly around the time Enjolras turned fourteen and morphed from baby-faced-angel to fae-like-Greek-god overnight. 

Grantaire knows it's wrong, and it's unforgivable, and he's sick for even thinking it. Enjolras is his little brother, for Christ's sake, he should want to make him squirm and flush with humiliation, not arousal. 

Grantaire knows it's wrong, and that's why he hasn't done anything. That's why he's content to pine desperately from afar, argue with Enjolras about the human condition, and keep his depraved fantasies as just that, fantasies. 

It's a good plan, and it works perfectly for two whole years. It looks set to continue working perfectly for many more, except for one small, insignificant detail that Grantaire forgot to factor in. 

Enjolras himself. 

-

It's Enjolras' sixteenth birthday. It's nearly eleven in the evening, and they've been drinking for almost three hours now. Grantaire is pleasantly buzzed, and Enjolras is starting to slur his words, and they're sitting on the sofa, the only ones in the house, maybe a millimetre apart at best.

Grantaire can't stop thinking about Enjolras' lips, especially because he keeps biting at them. Enjolras' lips, combined with Grantaire's steadily crumbling self-control, are going to become a problem any minute now.

"You're staring at my mouth." Enjolras accuses.

"Prove it." Grantaire fires back, on impulse. 

Enjolras gets a dangerous glint in his eye and very deliberately licks his lips. 

Grantaire is mesmerised. 

Grantaire is turned on. 

Grantaire is so very, very fucked. 

"You're staring at my mouth." Enjolras repeats, sing song. "Are you thinking about my lips? I've been reliably informed I have cocksucker's lips. But I bet you know that already, the amount of time you've spent staring at them. Have you wondered what they'd look like around your cock?"

Grantaire chokes, torn between mind-numbing outrage at someone else saying those things about his little brother and all-consuming lust at the things his little brother is currently saying.

"I have." Enjolras continues. "Thought about how you'd feel in my mouth. The noises you'd make. What you'd taste like. Whether or not you'd come down my throat."

And Grantaire's self-control crumbles away into nothing, and he presses their lips together, silencing Enjolras the only way his lust-addled brain can think of. 

Enjolras makes an appreciative noise and winds his fingers through Grantaire's hair, pulls him closer, bites at Grantaire's lower lip. 

Enjolras is a really, really good kisser. 

Grantaire is going to hell. 

Grantaire is past caring. 

When the need to breathe becomes too much, Grantaire finally pulls back, and stares at Enjolras' kiss-red mouth with wide eyes. "Christ."

Enjolras is smirking at him. 

"So?" He asks. "Do I measure up to your imagination?"

"So much better." Grantaire assures him, without really thinking about it. "God. Are we really doing this?"

"Can't see why we shouldn't."

"We're brothers." Grantaire points out. Enjolras is being far too calm about this. 

"And, considering we're incapable of producing a child, I can't see why that's an issue."

"It's illegal."

"Legal and illegal have more to do with what makes the upper class uncomfortable than actual right or wrong, and you know it."

"If our parents find out, they'll disown us. Heck, if _anyone_ finds out, they'll disown us."

"I like you far more than our parents." Enjolras says, like implying he'd give up his sizeable inheritance just so he could kiss Grantaire is in any way sane. "I like you far more than anyone. Society's overrated anyway. Can I kiss you again now?"

"We are talking about this when you're sober." Grantaire tells him, and Enjolras just hums in reply before pressing their lips back together and licking his way into Grantaire's mouth and Grantaire disregards responsibility in favour of mapping out Enjolras' mouth with his tongue. 

Probably not the morally sound decision. 

But definitely the best, in the long run.

-

The next morning, Grantaire wakes up slowly, gradually, to the sun slinking into the room through a small gap in the curtains to land, conveniently, right over his face. His head aches and his mouth tastes like feet and the sun is really, really bright. He blinks and rubs a hand over his eyes and groans. 

Next to him, Enjolras stirs.

And suddenly, in one tremendous wave, the exact events of last night come rushing back to him.

"Oh, shit." He mutters, sitting up and surveying the damage.

He's wearing boxers. That's good. So's Enjolras. It just keeps getting better. And there are three dark blue bruises on Enjolras' neck, and another two on his shoulder, and Grantaire's head really does ache. That's not so good.

"Hhhngh?" Enjolras groans, his eyes fluttering open as his back arches in a stretch. The movement throws his stomach muscles into sharp relief, in a way that really shouldn't be legal this early in the morning.

In a way that, considering the circumstances, isn't legal, no matter the time of day.

Fuck, but Grantaire's really screwed over this time.

"R?" Enjolras asks, looking at him with an expression some mix of concern and resignation, "Are you freaking out yet?"

"Yes." Grantaire says, voice ever so slightly strained. "Yes, I am freaking out. Freaking out is justified, I think, considering that we just broke the law. Do you know incest is punishable with up to two years in prison? You aren't even through school yet!"

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "...Why do you know that?"

"I have been thinking about fucking you for - oh, the irony - two whole years now. Do you really think I wouldn't do my research?"

"What, you don't think I'm worth two years in prison?" 

Enjolras is being far too calm about this. 

Grantaire is just going to have to freak out enough for the both of them. "You were a _minor_ , E. That wouldn't just be incest, that'd be _pedophilia_! I can get _life_ for pedophilia!"

"But you won't." Enjolras points out, still far too calm. "Because no one's going to find out."

"You don't know that. You can't promise that."

Enjolras shrugs. "Well, I think you're worth the risk."

Grantaire makes a strangled noise. "Not the point! So not the point! We could be-"

He has a clear, concise argument, just on the tip of his tongue. Except he never gets to make it, because Enjolras apparently gets tired of listening to him freak out and leans over to press their mouths together instead.

Grantaire makes another, muffled noise, but he doesn't pull away. He's wanted this for two years; he's never going to be able to pull away. And Enjolras seems far too aware of that.

When, eventually, Enjolras pulls away, he's smirking, way too smug for his own good. "We could be doing that." He points out.

Grantaire's clear, concise argument has vanished into smoke. All he has left is a very, very long list of the many and varied things he wants to do to Enjolras.

Two years. Two fucking _years_.

This isn't fucking fair.

"I- You-" Grantaire swallows. "Fuck. You make a very convincing argument."

"I know." Enjolras says, so goddamn pleased with himself. "Have I won you over yet?"

"You do realise how horrible this would be, right?" Grantaire asks. He has to ask, has to make sure, before he completely commits himself to doing something incredibly stupid. "Because, you are dooming yourself to a life of secrecy, pretending and lies. Which isn't actually that fun."

"But I'd have you." Enjolras replies. "What about that aren't you understanding? I don't care what else happens, as long as I get you. You're all that matters. You're all I need."

"...We are really fucked up." Grantaire says. If he says that, it isn't agreement. It isn't confirming that he feels exactly the same, thus giving him plausible deniability. Even if, judging by the look on his face, Enjolras has seen right through him, just like he always does.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Enjolras says, grinning. 

Christ, but smug looks good on him.

Grantaire opens his mouth to reply, realises there isn't anything else left to say, and reaches for Enjolras' mouth again instead. Kissing him is, somehow, even more addictive - even better - when there isn't an after-taste of alcohol. 

Enjolras lets out a groan that somehow manages to sound triumphant, wrapping his hands around Grantaire's waist and pulling them flush together and nipping at Grantaire's bottom lip, and God, no, there's no way in hell Grantaire is ever letting go of him ever again. They can never go back from this; Enjolras is Grantaire's forever now.

Pulling back from Enjolras' perfect mouth to start biting his way down Enjolras' perfect neck, Grantaire tells him as much. Enjolras' only response is a groan.

See, Grantaire and Enjolras have always been close. Never quite this close, but it was always inevitable, really. 

Grantaire certainly can't find it within himself to regret anything.

**Author's Note:**

> i am [here](http://idoubtthereforeimightbe.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
